Five Ways Finn Trashed the Copier
by tinmiss1939
Summary: Exactly what is says on the label. Spoilers for "Sectionals."


**1. F = m x a**

Classic rock hadn't failed him yet, so choosing the Rolling Stones was easy. He could get the music from the library computers and print off enough copies for everyone, as long as the librarian wasn't looking too closely. Still standing in the locker room, he tossed Mr. Schue's car keys in his hand a few times. He'd better not speed too much; the cops around here always got anxious to fill their quotas at the end of the month. The timing would be close.

Of course, he wouldn't need any of this Batman crap if Sue Sylvester wasn't such a massive tool. What was her problem, anyway? It was like she wasn't human. All she cared about were her stupid Cheerios, her protein shakes, and her damn copier.

Finn paused. The Cheerios' copier could scan, print double-sided, collate, and staple. Using the machine would save him some time and it would piss off Ms. Sylvester. She deserved a hell of a lot worse, of course. He could photocopy his butt a hundred times…but that would just waste paper. His eyes cast around the room for inspiration, finally settling on the open equipment locker.

After turning on the light, Finn surveyed his options briefly before deciding that, yes, classics were the best. His hand drifted over the rack of baseball bats—Louisville sluggers, aluminum bats, some fancy composites donated by an ambitious parent. He selected an aluminum alloy, lining up his knuckles and twisting his grip to get the feel for the bat. After a few practice swings, he knew he had made the right choice. That copier was never going to know what hit it.

Mr. Schue was right—you can't always get what you want. But this? This was gonna be awesome.

**2. 2 KNO3 + S + 3 C → K2S + N2 + 3 CO2**

At least this is one thing Puck can't do, Finn thought to himself bitterly as he jimmied open Principal Figgin's office door. Puck had never gotten the hang of picking locks, no matter how many times Finn tried to teach him. Puck never had the patience, preferring to break windows-which was kind of overkill when they were just hazing the JV football team.

There was one other thing Finn had always handled: the fireworks. If you wanted anything bigger than a sparkler, you either had to drive across the state line to Michigan and buy the good stuff, or start experimenting. Finn had always done the taking-apart and mixing because Puck would always whine like a little girl and chicken out.

Finn pushed Puck to the back of his mind and concentrated on finding the stash of confiscated firecrackers he knew was somewhere in this office. Last week, a few of the nerds had been trying to juice up the model rockets they built in their special physics class. The teacher had claimed the bottle rockets were his—which kept the college-bound kids from getting expelled—but Figgins had still taken the rockets back to his collection of contraband. Figgins kept all the really good stuff in a locked cabinet—Finn had seen it one time when he'd been sent up for skipping class with Quinn.

Opening the cabinet lock was even easier than the door, and soon Finn was striding back to the Cheerios' office with his own personal munitions dump. There wasn't a lot firepower, but in the confined space of the copier? It would be enough.

**3. C6H12O6**

Finn acknowledged that he wasn't good at understanding people. He missed things. Big things. And even when he could see what people were doing, he rarely understood why. However, he was pretty sure that anyone would be freaked out by Sue Sylvester's supply closet. It held enough Gatorade to hydrate the football team for an entire season, but paper for the copier? There was one spare pack, tucked under massive jar of peanut butter on the top shelf. And then there was the signed copy of Waterworld, still in plastic wrap. And the Ann Coulter action figure. It was just weird. Super weird.

Pulling out the pack of paper brought down a rain of peanut butter jars and protein shakes. After ducking out from under the hail of nutritional supplements, Finn loaded the paper and quickly finished making the copies. He was gathering his stuff to go, when he realized it wasn't enough. Yeah, he had made a mess of the closet and used some paper and ink, but there had to be something more he could do. Mr. Schue had asked him to step up and be a leader. Leaders did stuff. He could start taking a stand right here. He contemplated the jars of peanut butter and cans of protein shake rolling on the floor. Maybe there was something there.

He ripped open the doors of the copier and poured in three protein shakes and a jar of peanut butter. He scrawled "Cheerios suck!" on a blank piece paper, set the machine for 30 copies, and pressed the start button.

The machine groaned like it was alive. A few grease-smeared "Cheerios Suck!" flyers shot out the side before the smell of burning sugar filled the air. Finn backed towards the door, clutching the sheet music to his chest. The groaning grew in pitch and intensity and the whole machine shuddered. At last, the copier gave one final shriek, and was silent.

**4. V = IR**

In the middle of dousing the copier's innards with Gatorade, Finn realized this might not be his best idea ever. If he electrocuted himself all those copies weren't going to help the Glee Club very much. He tried to be smart. The copier was unplugged and he was wearing rubber boots stolen from the janitor's closet.

On the other hand, he wasn't even sure that this would work. The potato clock science fair project had been a long time ago, and Quinn had done most of the work, anyway. He remembered that electricity had something to do with electrolytes, and Gatorade was full of electrolytes—it said so on the label.

It might not do any damage. It might kill him. He was in the middle of it now, however, and he couldn't leave a job half finished. The power cord was duct-taped to the yardstick—all he had to do was plug it into the wall. As long as he didn't set the building on fire, everything would be fine. The copier would fry itself, Glee Club would win sectionals, and no one would ever mess with Mr. Schuester again.

Finn pulled on the rubber gloves, took a breath, and plugged the copier into wall socket.

**5. AGTTACGCATCGGCCTAAA**

Finn watched his masterpiece come to life while sitting on Ms. Sylvester's desk opposite the copier. Taking a sip of Gatorade, he remembered the day he had asked his mother about yeast infections. He had been 12 at the time and had seen a few too many commercials.

_"Mom, what's a yeast infection?"_

_His mother sighed and reached into the cabinet for a mug and some foil packets._

_"Grab the sugar bowl, sweetie."_

_Finn watched as his mother mixed the tan granules with warm water and some spoonfuls of sugar. The kitchen began to smell like the bread she always made at Christmas. Then she told him to come back in fifteen minutes._

_When he returned, the mug was full of something out of a science fiction movie. A tan, sticky blob was rising above the top of the mug and it was breathing. Over the horror buzzing in his head, his mother explained that women's bodies were different, and sometimes they got sick in different ways. It wasn't anything weird or gross—at the time, Finn hadn't been so sure he agreed—it was just different._

_"That is another reason why you always treat women with extra respect, Finn. They have to deal with issues you can't understand. Now, why don't you get the flour out of the pantry, and we'll make something special for breakfast tomorrow."_

Eating those sticky buns had been a little weird, he remembered, but his mom had added extra chocolate chips. He had just decided not to think too hard. It was his usual coping strategy.

Looking back at the past and today, it all seemed like fate. The Home Ec kitchen was so conveniently close to the Cheerios office. He hadn't been sure how much yeast to add, so he had dumped the whole jar into the bowl, set it in the paper tray, and added a cup of sugar and as much water as he could. The copier was still warm, so it hadn't taken long for the freaky little bugs to wake up. The frothing, bubbling mess inside the copier had already spilled over the sides of the bowl and currently oozing into the circuitry.

Finn smiled. It was perfect. He carefully shut the copier door, turned out the light, and locked the office behind him. He had sectionals to win.

Key for Titles

1. Force equation

2. Chemical reaction of gunpowder

3. Chemical formula for sugar

4. Equation for electrical current

5. DNA nucleotides (totally random string)


End file.
